Allister, J. Rose - Disowned Cowboys [Lone Wolves of Shay Falls] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Allister, Rose J.

  She let her gaze shift to the decor on the wall next to her and focused on a photo of two cowboys staring out at her while standing on opposite sides of a black horse. One held a black hat in his hand and had his head turned at enough of an angle to see a shaved strip of scalp with some sort of markings beneath—a tattoo, perhaps. The other wore his light-colored Stetson at a jaunty angle that reminded her of someone else. An odd sense of recognition flickered in her pulse, but as she peered harder, it was clear that the men were not Kyle and Dillon. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a commonality beyond cowboy spirit. She leaned closer to the photograph, staring into the men’s serious, frozen expressions and half wondering whether their eyes would glitter with pale flecks of gold if the photo had been rendered in full color.

  The scribbled inscription beneath bore last year’s date and the words Taken at the Winchester-Saratoga Ranch.

  She frowned. Winchester. She’d heard that name before.

  “Hi.”

  The voice jerked her around on her hard, wooden seat. A thin, freckle-faced man with pale brown eyes and a crooked grin stood over her, smiling down as though they were the best of friends. She doubted he was the waiter, as he held no pad or pencil and was wearing street clothes. His Jack Daniel’s T-shirt hung loose on his lanky frame, and his eyes were a bit too clear to believe he was truly a frequent friend of the brand.

  “Um, hi,” she said.

  He nodded toward the picture. “Saw you lookin’ real intent-like at that photo,” he said. “Just so happens that’s the ranch where I work. My name’s Hank, by the way. Hank Junior to those who know my daddy.”

  She nodded, wondering how to get rid of him nicely. “I see.”

  “That there’s Kade.” He reached out with a skinny arm to point at the cowboy with the tattooed scalp. “The other one’s Chaz. They own the ranch together.”

  Kade. Her breath caught as the name clicked.

  An outsider named Kade Winchester challenged Blaise for alpha rights. He won the right to take over.

  She blinked at the image. The man in that photo had been Dillon’s alpha. He’d been the one to break up the pack and doom Dillon to roam the mountain, alone and hated. And she’d just happened to sit right down in front of that image. An eerie prickle shot up along the back of her neck.

  “I ain’t just a hand there, neither,” the man went on. “Been the WS’s cow boss for goin’ on five years now.” His neck jutted up from the top of his shirt, his Adam’s apple bobbing strangely with every word. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Oh.” She glanced around. “I really wasn’t looking for any company. I just wanted a quick bite to eat.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have outta worn that dress.” He hooked his thumbs through the loops in his worn blue jeans. “You look mighty more prettied up than someone who came in here to be alone.”

  The appearance of an apron-wearing waitress filled Aimee with gratitude. “Will there be one of you, or two?” the woman asked.

  “It’s only me,” Aimee said before Hank could intervene, and his face fell. “Sorry, but I’m just passing through. Nothing more.”

  He retreated to the bar and hunched over a pint of beer. She ordered her meal and a root beer at a half shout over the din of Elvis crooning “Heartbreak Hotel” from the jukebox, then willed herself to blend into the background as she watched the waitress saunter off. Aimee glanced down at her noticeable cleavage and had to concede that Hank was right. A sleeveless, low-cut dress didn’t exactly scream leave me the hell alone. She would have drawn less attention if she’d kept on her dirty white coat and galoshes.

  “I don’t blame you one bit, darlin’,” came a voice from the table beside hers.

  She turned to find an older man with rheumy eyes and greasy salt-and-pepper hair leering at her. “Excuse me?”

  His gaze slid without apology to her breasts. “If I had a set of titties like that, I’d spend all my time starin’ at ’em, too. And grabbin’ ’em.”

  Her mouth fell open as her arms shot up to fold across her breasts. She shoved her seat back loudly and stood up with a pointed glare. Then she stalked off to take a seat several tables away. As she stormed off, she heard him cackle and call after her. “Aw, come on, sugar. Don’t leave.”

  She plopped down in the new seat with a scowl. Coming here had been a bad idea.

  Her waitress scurried by, and Aimee waved her down to apologize for moving. “And could I change my root beer to an actual beer?”

  A smile quirked the corner of the waitress’s mouth. “Bottle or tap?”

  “Tap, please.”

  The mug plunked down in front of her a couple of minutes later, and she sipped the brew through a stout head of foam while wondering why she’d ordered it. Beer had never been her favorite beverage, nor was she much of a drinker. Plus she had the long drive back on a twisting mountain road. One wouldn’t hurt, though, especially one she had no intention of finishing.

  Foam clung stubbornly to her lips as she continued to drink, and as she swiped at it with her tongue, she wished her food would hurry up so she could get the hell out.

  She had barely relaxed enough to sigh in relief before someone grabbed her arm. Beer from the mug she held sloshed down her cleavage. “Hey!” she shouted.

  “Dance with me, honey.”

  She jerked back with a gasp at the unshaven, beer-bellied lout that leaned over her. His mop of black curls appeared not to have seen a comb that day, perhaps not for quite some time before that. His dingy white T-shirt appeared to have been similarly denied a tumble in the laundry.

  “No, thank you,” she said, her voice shaken. “I’m not here to dance.”

  “Me, neither,” he said, crow’s feet wrinkling around the corners of his dark eyes as he grinned at her. “But a gal like you can’t just sit here drinkin’ alone. That’d be a double damn shame, and a criminal act to boot.”

  Irritation snapped like a hungry crocodile inside of her. “What the hell’s wrong with everyone in here?” Her voice barely crested over the music. “I just want to eat my damn food and go home. You got a problem with that?”

  “Not if you take me with you.” He reached down and pulled her up out of her chair by the upper arm. “Come on. Just one dance. Elvis is the King, you know.”

  The song ended on precisely that note, and she yanked away. “Stop that.”

  Why was this bar full of horny morons? She’d never been harassed this much by the male persuasion before, not even when her best friend had shoved her inside the boys’ locker room as a senior prank when she’d heard Aimee was still a virgin.

  To further screw with her day, a crooning love song struck up on the jukebox. The jerk took that as an invitation to grab her waist and swing her around. “Don’t be like that. It’s just a friendly dance.” She took hold of his upper arms and tried to wriggle away as his hand slid down to cup her bottom. “Jesus, would you feel that sweet ass?”

  She lashed out to slap him full in the face, and as he staggered backward, an anomaly caught her attention over his shoulder. She blinked at the odd, pale-yellow dots looming in the blackness in the dim, far corner of the room. The pair of golden orbs rose higher, brightening to a gleam as they moved forward until a familiar face emerged from the shadows.

  “Dillon,” she whispered.

  He looked just the way he had when she’d left him that morning, except his hat and coat were gone. He’d paired a red corduroy shirt with his brown jeans and wore a savage expression that had her suddenly afraid for the man who’d regained his balance and was again coming toward her.

  The man never made it. Dillon gripped his shoulder and reeled him around. “Back the fuck off, dicktard. The lady don’t want your company.”

  “What are you doing here?” Aimee asked, breathless with gratitude.

  He turned to her. “I could ask you the same, but I guess I can see what you’re doin’ here. Look at you, darlin’.” His eyes roamed over her. “All dressed
up and ready to attract these drunk, leerin’ assholes.”

  She folded her arms and sneered back at him. “Don’t suppose you could have stepped in two drunk, leering assholes ago?”

  “This one got out of line with my last nerve.”

  “Fuck you, cowpoke,” the man spat, quite literally, considering spittle flew out from between his crusty lips. “This is between me and her.”

  Dillon took hold of the man’s faded T-shirt and raised a fist. “The only thing between you and her is me.”

  Aimee stepped around. “Dillon, don’t. Stop it.”

  He lowered his fist but whirled on her with a wild look of undulating golden eyes. “No. You stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  He grabbed her upper arm and strode off toward a hallway in the back, dragging her along beside him.

  Aimee tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “Dillon, cut it out. Where are you taking me? Stop!”

  Dillon yanked open a red door marked Ladies and pushed her inside. She was still protesting when he followed her in, pausing only long enough to shove the door lock into place. He turned and stalked toward her, and she retreated backwards until he had her pressed against the chipped black-and-white tile wall.

  “You stop, Aimee.” He was close enough for her to smell the tang of hard liquor on his breath. Combined with his male musk and proximity, the effect wound him tightly through her senses. “Stop intoxicatin’ men with your scent.”

  Her eyes shot wide. “What, you think I led those idiots on?”

  “I think Kyle and I were wrong about you.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “We assumed that as long as we kept your clothes on and didn’t sink inside that hot pussy of yours, we wouldn’t trigger the matin’ frenzy.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “The what?”

  “Women destined to become the mates of weres are highly attractive to males, somethin’ I’m sure you’ve noticed about yourself for some time now.”

  She swallowed but shook her head. “I don’t have time to pay attention to things like that. And where’s Kyle, by the way?”

  “But if a bond mate is awakened sexually before she has been properly claimed,”—he paused and sucked in a breath through his pearly-white teeth—“then, hoo-ee. She becomes downright irresistible.”

  He bent closer, inhaling deeply with his nostrils pressed to her hair. “Oh, Lord have a bucket of mercy. We really did a number on you last night, didn’t we? Turned on a faucet of pheromones so thick any man in your target zone will go stark crazy with lust.”

  Her voice shook when she tried to answer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He lifted his head to fix her with a stare that shot fire through her belly. “Those brown doe eyes of yours are so innocent but so deep that they can lose a man in their depths. And your body? Pure madness when you sashayed into the bar wearin’ that sexy-sweet dress. You are so ripe, untouched by men you are not destined for. Men who pray that they’ll be the one to take that innocence and burn it like wildfire.” He pressed his body closer until she could feel his heat rush through her. His stiff cock pressed desperately against the mound of her pussy. “But none of ’em are the one, Aimee. You know that. You know who this body is meant for.”

  His hands ran along her arms, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts along the way. Shocks of electricity followed his touch, sparking a carnal throb between her legs that she ached for him to hone and sharpen and spike into a grinding climax. A gasp escaped from her parted lips, and he quickly leaned down to capture it with his mouth. His moan vibrated against her lips as he plundered her mouth with his tongue.

  “Fuck, this is just the way I’ve always pictured it,” he whispered, then pulled back and stared at her skirt. “Bet you ain’t even wearin’ any panties.”

  Her eyes widened. “How the hell can you tell that? My dress isn’t see-through.” Or was it? God, was that why every man in the place figured he had a shot with her?

  “Jesus, it’s true?” Dillon pulled her away from the wall, holding her against him with one arm while he ran a hand up the back of her thigh, beneath her skirt. His fingers set off tingles of fierce pleasure wherever they touched. When he grazed her bare ass, he hissed. “Shit. You’re killin’ me, Aimee, comin’ here to me like this because you know you’re mine.”

  She pushed his hand away, even though her body was screaming for him to plunge those fingers deep inside the pussy she could feel growing slippery and wet. “I didn’t come here like this on purpose. My nylons got ripped when I was tromping around the woods trying to find you two.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You dressed like this to visit me at the cave?”

  “No, I dressed like this to go visit my mother. I just started driving when I left her and found myself up here before I realized what I was doing. So don’t get any wild ideas.”

  “Oh, I’ve got ideas. My fantasy in the flesh,” he murmured, raking his fingers through her hair. “The one I’ve had of my mate for years.”

  He turned her around to face the large mirror over the sink while he looked on from just over her shoulder. She found him staring at her in the glass and watched him stroke the bare spot on her neck just below the ends of her curly hair. Her nipples tightened enough to see them straining through the fabric of her dress.

  “Did you know that weres and mates dream or fantasize about each other?” he asked. “That mates will play out their male’s fantasy without even realizin’ they’re doin’ it?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “You’ve dreamed of me before, haven’t you?”

  She shook her head but sighed when he shot her a skeptical look. “I used to daydream about cowboys with glittering eyes. I’ve just been so focused on work that it’s been a while since I had one.” Her stomach tightened in memory. Men in hats and boots with snug jeans and sexy laughter had populated many a masturbatory fantasy, but she couldn’t recall a specific face.

  He smiled. “Do you want to hear my fantasy?”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “I always assumed it’s of the day I first see my mate. I’m sittin’ alone in a bar when she walks in. She’s completely different from the other women there. They’re all wearin’ slut jeans and tank tops or tight denim shorts. This woman has on a proper white dress, sweet as can be. My heart begins pumpin’ faster because I recognize her. She will be mine.”

  His hands slid over her shoulders, stroking along her collarbone. Aimee leaned against the sink to steady her knees. “She orders a beer, completely unaware that I’m watchin’ her every move. When her tongue flicks out to lick thick, foamy beer suds from her luscious pink lips, the blood in my veins begins to boil.”

  “You’re making this up,” she said in a faint quiver.

  A seductive smile lit up the side of his face. “No, darlin’. Every word is true.”

  The fingers tracing her collarbones joined in front of her throat to slide slowly, maddeningly down her sternum. Now her nipples throbbed with need, aching to have him cup a breast in each hand and squeeze.

  “Every man’s eyes are fastened to her creamy skin, but she don’t seem to notice. When I walk up to her, however, my gaze is the one she cannot ignore. The one that lights her soul on fire.”

  A gasp escaped her lips when his hands circled around her breasts.

  “I sit down beside her, and she tries to make conversation. I can’t listen to a word, though. My body is screamin’ at me to claim her for my own. Finally, I can’t take it anymore and slide my hand along a silky thigh, up inside that pretty little skirt.”

  He paused to demonstrate, lightly grazing the sides of her thighs as her skirt rose higher. She stared at him in the mirror, watching his eyes bloom with a golden flame that ignited her need. His voice sounded strained when he continued. “My fingers brush the soft curls of her bare cunt, and that’s when I realize she’s got no panties on.”

  Her head fell back against his ch
est while his hands slid around her front and stroked down between her thighs, which shook at his skilled, practiced touch. She gripped the front of the sink harder as his fingers toyed with the hood of her clit.

  “Dillon,” she whispered.

  “The second I feel that wet, soft heat,” he whispered in her ear, “I know I can’t wait another moment to possess her. I take her to the bathroom, lock the door, and lift that skirt to sink inside her with the cock that’s been rock hard in my pants since the minute she walked in.” Still holding her eyes in the mirror with a glazed expression, Dillon ground himself against her ass so she could feel the truth of his words.

  “She’s a virgin,” he went on hoarsely, “but she don’t refuse me. She knows her purity belongs to me, and she aches for me to take it. I fuck her while she’s hangin’ on to the sink, her hot, velvet cunt drivin’ me to the brink of madness. Right before I shoot her full of my hot cum, I make her slip off the sleeves of her dress and peel it down to the waist. I don’t want to muss that innocent white fabric when I sink my fangs into her sweet, soft shoulder.”

  Her eyes flared wide, and she stiffened against him. “What, you mean you want to bite me?”

  “I want to mark you as mine.”

  Aimee swallowed. “I don’t want you hurting me.”

  His fingers slid lower along her wet lips, then he pushed one up inside of her slippery pussy. “Oh, it don’t hurt, darlin’. Not like that. After the first stab of pain, your body blossoms with fierce pleasure enough to bring you off and make your cunt spasm around my cock.”

  Another question about being bitten niggled at the back of her mind, but it fell away as his finger slid in and out, her pussy walls contracting around him as waves of pleasure began building in her pelvis. Dillon’s other hand worked on her clit, tracing tiny circles around the hard nub until she wanted to scream. Her body was rapidly climbing to a peak as she leaned against him.